I first met Aric several weeks into the Mars-Jupiter transit. From kickoff at Phobos to booster burn-out I was harnessed to my G-couch, unable to do much more than sip at the ship's bland nutrients and marinate in my own pungent effluvia. Finally we were free to move about, and after several days acclimating to zero-g so we could all stop smelling of puke, the captain invited us to a posh soiree in the lounge. Posh by space-travel standards, which means vaguely sick passengers in their underwear crowded into a small hemispherical deck. And we had a great time.
Minor K5 (a quintet as one would imagine based on the graph-theory reference) played for most of the night. I've spent a lot of time doing the theatre circuit and I have to say even by Potsdam standards they were exceptional musicians. From their first-rate audio programming (the lounge felt like a concert hall) to their technical mastery of a huge range of virtual instruments it was easy to see why they were touring the outer planets. The farther you get from Earth the more you find that the people who have made it there really deserve to be there. They were shooting for Rook's Pawn or even Canterbury and I wish them well. Like most great synthesist bands they did far more than just cover the hits of the last millennium -- they wove together a compelling tale of suffering and reconciliation, of sin and redemption -- and we had concerts like that over the next months, but the first night was all party. Melodious jigs and reels, tinny Rock and Roll with its screeching electronics and cave man beats leavened with more refined late-period Raj with its rich layer upon layer of tempestuous complexity (with a bit of sinc to get everyone thinking), the few songs that weren't soaringly triumphant were dripping with pride at human accomplishment. Can't say the lift in mood wasn't welcome.
Aric was their primary percussionist. The live music, and several bulbs of the milky but potent rerun punch -- it all affected me. He would twitch and bounce in his harness, smacking sticks against his drum-pads, flicking his feet against tabs, and swinging his hands and elbows through a network of photosensors. All in harmony with the music, indeed creating the music. It was hypnotically erotic. Between sets I downed my bulb and pushed off towards him. And then I pushed myself on him.
Sometimes I feel like I'm being too forward, so I back off and then find out that I wasn't being forward enough. I was afraid that I was going to be disappointed again, so I was pleasantly surprised an hour and a half later to find myself tangled in sleep webbing, Aric bumping me like one of his instruments. I'm a bit fuzzy about it but I think there was a lot of drunken bumping going on that night.
We didn't spend a lot of time together. I had research to do and he had his music to practice which he did in bizarre twitchy silence so as not to bother anyone else. Sometimes we'd share audio and he'd play and I'd sing; he was quite a xylophonist and I was -- acceptable, I suppose. I enjoyed it and he seemed to tolerate it. But mostly we had sex. When we didn't feel like trying to be discreet in our thin-walled cubicles we'd reserve one of the exercise pods and spend a few hours in relative isolation. Aric was an energetic if somewhat unfocused lover. He did a lot of licking, nibbling and unspecific rubbing, and if he got himself off by vaguely humping my torso he was just as happy. On the plus side he was non-judgmental and would help me get myself off too; on the minus side I sometimes require a little more precision.
At some point I suggested that I needed him to give me direct attention. He sort of did a few times, and then he drifted elsewhere. After a couple of days when I was going to propose a particularly romantic tryst in the rowing pod, I found out he was bumping someone else -- the pathetic e2 girl who kept offering him her pudding at mealtime. Great, I thought, they were ideal for each other. Both empty-headed and confused, they'd probably forget what they were doing and screw empty hardsuits. And be just as happy.
That was the start of my current dry spell. Aric's rejection made me relive leaving Ke, and I spent the rest of the trip strapped in a running harness sweating away the pain. Hitting the couch again for deceleration was actually a relief. I have concerns about sleeping with colleagues, and everyone since then has been a colleague. At some point that may change -- we're here for eight years at least -- but I'm not in a hurry. I can get by alone for now.
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